Free Cast a Blue Shadow by P. L. Gaus

Were you up by five, or was it six?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Sure you do.”
    “I just found her, all right!”
    “And you just stood there and watched her for half an hour, maybe more.”
    “Sure. Maybe. I don’t know for sure.”
    “Did you touch anything besides the phone?”
    “No.”
    “OK. That’s enough for now,” Robertson concluded after a long silence. “I’ll want you to come down to my office later this morning. We’ll all go in together.”
    Robertson thought further and asked, “Did you kids have another party here? Last night, after your mother went to bed?”
    “No. I told you. I took a pill and went to bed.”
    “OK,” Robertson said. “Be ready later this morning.”
    Sonny closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
    “I’m going to leave you with Professor Branden,” Robertson added.
    “OK, sure,” Sonny said, rubbing his eyes.
    Robertson retrieved his suit coat and pulled Branden out into the hall. Quietly he said, “He doesn’t seem too traumatized.”
    “He’s tired, Bruce. Probably also in shock.”
    “Does he seem normal to you? Kind of passive and frustrated too?”
    “Sonny’s not very assertive under the best of circumstances. And he’s easily frustrated. He’s been under enormous pressure from his mother for grades that are, frankly, beyond his capabilities,” Branden said. “I see a lot of kids like that, lately. Let me talk with him a bit.”
    Robertson pulled the curtains open on a hallway window, and bright light reflected in off the snow. He shaded his eyes and gazed down at the parking lot behind the house. “I’ve probably got a dozen people to talk to,” he said.
    Branden looked down and counted seven vehicles parked at various angles against the snow Daniel had banked with his plow.
    “Do you need me to come down to the dining room?” Branden asked. “Your deputies are going to have their hands full.”
    Robertson stared down at the cars. “Yeah,” he said. “But give Sonny, there, some attention first.”

13
    Saturday, November 2 8:55 A.M.
    CAROLINE Branden let herself into Martha Lehman’s third-floor dormitory room using a key from Martha’s purse. The door opened to the central area of a two-bedroom suite smelling strongly of smoke and stale beer. Caroline negotiated a tangle of cans, pizza boxes, overturned chairs, and a battered coffee table to cross the room and pull up the dusty Venetian blinds on a north-facing window. Behind her, someone coughed, and she turned to see a boy with a patchy brown beard and a sleepy girl wriggle out from under a blanket on a sofa against the wall. With their eyes shaded, they muttered and groaned, and the boy said, “Hey, man,” weakly.
    The girl stood up and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, leaving the boy on the couch. He sat up grumbling and stood with his back turned to put on a pair of stretched-out jeans.
    “Hey, man. What’s with the dawn patrol?” he asked and blinked in the strong light at Caroline.
    The girl stepped over the mess on the floor and went into one of two bedrooms.
    Caroline took off her coat, looked for a place to lay it down, and folded it over her arm. She said to the boy, “I take it this isn’t your room.”
    “Who made you the moral police?” he said.
    “I’m Caroline Branden,” she said. “I’ve come to get some of Martha’s things.”
    The boy stood in place for a while as his mind cleared. His eyes focused on Caroline slowly, and he said, “You Doc Branden’s wife?”
    She nodded.
    “Oh,” he said. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
    He disappeared into the bedroom, and Caroline heard first loud and then hushed voices. When the two emerged, they were dressed.
    The fellow said, “I hope this isn’t going to be any trouble, Mrs. Branden. I just fell asleep, is all.”
    The girl, less intimidated, said, “Dr. Branden is Will’s professor,” and forced a smile.
    Will looked sternly at the girl and said, “I was at your home once, Mrs.